


Come Wake Me Up

by smoakmonster



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:26:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smoakmonster/pseuds/smoakmonster
Summary: The Beast sets Belle free. As much as her heart soars being with her father again, her heart also yearns to return to him.





	Come Wake Me Up

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt by Anonymous on Tumblr: 
> 
> Had Gaston not interfered, Belle would have come through that open door Adam was waiting by in that lonely tower. So, how about an AU where Belle reaches the Beast before Gaston?

In the comfortable stillness of the cottage, Belle watches her father dutifully construct another music box. She’s seen him make dozens of these little instruments before, but tonight she can’t seem to tear her gaze away from his delicate and decorative handiwork.

“You’re awfully quiet this evening,” her father comments.

But Belle remains so enraptured in his work and in her own thoughts that she doesn’t respond.

With practiced, meticulous hands Maurice slides the two small figurines he’s been patiently shaping towards each other, to the very heart of the music box, until their extended little hands are clasped together. Unannounced, her heart begins to beat wildly; she gasps softly, when _at last_ she realizes what he’s doing. The figures are _dancing._

Though still unpainted, Belle can well imagine the slightly taller and broader figure leading the smaller figure--the woman--with her long skirt flowing like a waterfall, as she spins around the dance floor her father has created.

“Now then. Any color preference as to the lady’s gown?”

 _Yellow_ , her heart cries. But she just whispers solemnly, “Anything you want, Papa.”

In the safety and solitude of her mind, Belle does not know how to relate to her Papa all that has happened to her, all that has changed. She’s not the same girl she was when she left to save him. And it feels wrong, to hide her thoughts from him. All her life, there have never been any secrets between them. And yet, her time in the castle all feels like a dream; and now that she’s returned to this provincial little place, she can’t quite put her experience into words.

_Bittersweet and strange...learning you were wrong._

Her father proceeds to dip the paintbrush into the deep blue color that reminds her so much of that rich blue suit. She can still feel the silky fabric beneath her fingers, can still feel his _strength_ , his warmth...

“Oh, that’s lovely.”

Belle starts. “What is?”

“That music. The music you were just humming.”

“Oh, I...” She honestly hadn't realized she'd been humming anything, but she can well imagine which tune it was, a bittersweet melody that seems to live inside her now. She feels a flush come over her, but Papa doesn't seem to notice.

“Perhaps I’ll borrow it for the box. Will you hum for me once more?”

“Oh,” is all she can say. Now that he's asking her to, she can't bring herself to share the song. She just _can't_. It feels too sacred, feels like a secret that's not entirely hers to tell.

Her father pauses in his work, setting the brush down to reach for her clasped hands.

She starts again at the coolness of his touch, shaking her head a little in self-deprecation. Had she really been expecting to feel someone else’s hands?

“Belle.”

“Yes, Papa?”

“Are you happy here, dear?” He frowns deeply, watching her with those keen, contemplative eyes that always make her feel exposed and safe at the same time.

“What?” she breathes.

“Well, it’s a simple question. Are you happy here in this...small village with its small problems?”

She opens her mouth to give an automatic answer, but he stops her with his index finger and a look that says _let me finish._

“Ever since you came back, you’ve been...different,” he finally says. “When you were a child--”

“Well, I’m not a child anymore,” she mutters, perhaps a little resentfully. Though _what_ she's resentful about she's unsure.

Her father seems to pick up on her change in mood. “What happened to you in that place, Belle?” He scoots his chair a little closer to her stool, leaning his head to try to meet her downcast gaze. Gently, he whispers, “What did he do to you?”

Her eyes shoot up, locking with his. A strong, visceral heat--a _need_ \--floods through her at his tone, the need to defend her friend. “ _Do_ to me? _Nothing_ ,” she declares emphatically. “He...he did nothing,” she finishes quietly, all the anger suddenly drained out of her as quickly as it came. She sighs, the air itself feeling heavier, pressing down against her chest.

“Except let you go,” says Papa, as though she needs reminding. “And here you are, back safely with me. And as you said yourself, you are _free_.” He reaches up to run his thumb soothingly across her cheek, an act that never failed to make her smile as a young girl, but does not have the desired effect tonight.

“My dear Belle, I’m not going to be around forever, you know. You have to think about the future... _your_ future.”

“This _is_ my home, Papa.” Yet even as she utters the words, trying to convince him, immediately she feels their sharp, ugly falsehood stir inside her heart like poison.

And Papa _knows_ . Of course he knows. She catches that familiar, patient twinkle grow behind his eyes. “If that were still true, you would be smiling again. You know, I don’t think I’ve seen you smile _once_ today.”

Suddenly, she can't keep the thoughts she's been trying to conceal hidden any longer. She feels the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She feels the longing overtaking her. And she knows she's wearing all of this turmoil openly on her face, but at long last she just does not have the strength to stop it anymore.

“So I’ll ask you again. And be honest with me, Belle. Are you happy? _Really_ happy?”

She takes a few unsteady breaths before answering him slowly. “No, Papa. I’m not.” Her words come out barely above a whisper. All her life she's boldly spoken her mind, but now...now for once she finds herself _afraid_ of the great wide somewhere. She's never felt this way about anyone before.

“I...I miss him.”

Papa smiles. “There now. That wasn’t so hard.”

“You’re not angry with me?”

“Angry with you? Belle, my child, I could never be angry with you for wanting to chase your dreams. You know, sometimes dreams can change. And it's important that we have the courage to embrace them when they do.”

“Well, I do still want to travel and have adventures and see new places, but I...” she hesitates.

“You want to do all those things with him, don’t you?”

She nods. “How did you know?”

“Because you have that same starry-eyed look your mother had when she miraculously agreed to marry me.”

Belle swallows deeply, still a bit unsure.

But attentive, wise Papa seems to carry all the answers today. “Well then,” he positively declares with ease, as though they are discussing Shakespeare and not her entire future. “I think you know what you must do.” He gives her that firm, paternal look.

“You want me to leave you?” she cries, alarmed.

“Belle, I want what you want. And if you must go back, then go.”

“Well...” she begins, running her hands along the fabric of her dress anxiously, her heart thumping wildly in her chest at the prospect of going back. “You will come, too, won’t you Papa? There are plenty of rooms. And it...it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“I’ll follow along, I promise. But now _you_ must go to him. No time to waste.”

 _That_ draws a smile from her--so sudden and bursting, it takes her by surprise--and she laughs a little with relief--with _joy_. She practically leaps from her stool to kiss her Papa’s cheek before racing upstairs to find the mirror.

Tentatively, cautiously, she brings the regal, golden window to another world close to her, close to the core of her being. _Please, don’t let me be too late._

With desperate, shaking hands and a trembling, yet expectant heart, she whispers to the mirror, “Show me the Beast.”

xxx

It’s a little silly, perhaps, but a part of her was half-hoping to find him standing there in the entryway, waiting for her by an open door.

Instead, she returns to a deserted, ghostly entryway, a constant museum, as grand and as silent as the first time she entered this place. Has it really only been a few days that she’s been away? It feels like a lifetime. And yet everything has remained ever just the same, like the entire castle is waiting for her to wake it up again.

“Hello?” she calls to the staircase, waiting, _hoping_ for someone--anyone--to answer her.

But the only sound is her own solemn echo dissipating up into the rafters.

 _No_. She can’t be too late. Only a few hours ago when she checked the mirror, he was...

_Hold on. I’m on my way._

With as much speed as she can muster, she flies up the stairs, following the same winding path that led her to her father...and to him that first night. But this time, she has no candelabra to guide her--not that she needs one. She knows exactly where to find him.

After what feels like thousands of endless stairs, she _finally_ reaches the very top of the highest tower and slowly steps out onto the ledge.... She gasps the moment she sees him. There he is, her kind, gentle friend, covered in the blistering cold snow, his once mountainous form curled in on himself, as though he wishes to turn into one of the stony gargoyles guarding this turret. 

The snow disguises the sound of her footsteps, because he doesn’t even react to her presence, seemingly oblivious that she’s returned at all. He is but a fraction of the life she's come to care for.

Her heart falters. He seems...so much _worse_ in person, so still, so solemn, so...unlike himself. And he’s all alone. Has he even _moved_?

She can’t bear to see him like this a moment longer.

“Are you insane?”

Undoing the ties of her coat, Belle tosses the fabric off her shoulders, before brushing off the layers of snow that cling to his fur and laying the coat on his back.

“Come on,” she urges, leaning down to try to meet his eyes, but he still won’t acknowledge her. It’s like he’s in some kind of trance, under some spell she has no power to break. “Do you _want_ to freeze to death?” she cries, feeling at once both determined and helpless. If she cannot get him to move...

 _“Please.”_ She runs her arm fervently across his broad back, back and forth, trying to warm him, trying to wake him.

She’s not sure how many minutes she spends rubbing his back, talking to him, trying to get him to hear her...but at last, he turns his head, shifting his body to look at her.

“Belle...” The way he looks at her makes her heart plummet for a different reason. He’s watching her as though he doesn’t really believe she’s here.

“Come on,” she begs him, pulling on his arm to stand, yet she’s no match for his strength and they both know it. The only way he will leave this turret is if he wants to. And he _has_ to want to; she _needs_ him to want to. They’ve come too far to lose hope now.

Falling to her knees to join him, Belle reaches up to touch his face, to brush away the chunks of bitter ice that have gotten stuck much too close to his eyes. The instant her hand is splayed against his cheek, he shuts his eyes, leaning slightly into her hand, savoring her touch as much as she savors touching him again.

“Please," she breathes.

When he opens his eyes again, they look more like the ones she remembers saying goodbye to, filled with uncommon tenderness and uncommon agony. Oh, how she’s missed those eyes.

“You...you came back.” His voice is rough and hoarse from disuse but still filled with such awe.

“Of _course_ I came back. How long have you been sitting out here?”

“I...I don’t know,” he answers despondently. “How long have you been gone?”

Belle gasps in horror, her worst fears being realized. She’s considering giving him a full admonishment, when he starts to move, so briefly, so subtly at first that she almost misses it. He groans through the pain, standing on quivering, uncertain legs. She helps as much as she can, slowly leading him back inside, down the winding staircase and all the way to the West Wing. They sit together in front of a glorious, roaring fire, as she wraps him in as many blankets as she can find.

“I’m going to call for some tea.”

But he stops her with a swift grasp of her hand. “What...” He clears his throat. “What about your father?”

She frowns, not sure what he means at first. And then it dawns on her. “Oh. Oh, he’s coming, too. I hope that’s alright. I...invited him to live with us.”

“ _Us?_ ”

“Well, that is...if you still want me to stay?”

He sighs with deep, obvious relief, as he scoops her other free hand into his large one. The gleam in his eyes grows a little brighter just before he smiles. “Of course I want you to stay.”

Belle feels her own smile spreading and a warm, happy blush blooming over her face. “I see you still have a few petals left.”

He follows her line of sight, glancing over to the rose beneath the glass, nodding. When he looks back at her, there seems to be more hope glittering behind those blue eyes than there was before.

“Does that mean we have time to figure out how to undo the curse?”

He stills. “Oh, I...I already know how to break the curse.”

“What? You’ve known all this time? Why didn’t--”

“Because it’s not up to me,” he gently interrupts.

That gives her pause. “I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”

He smiles patiently. “Your presence here is enough, Belle. It’s more than enough.” He stops, clearly wanting to say more but takes his time in studying her, as though the answer to his questions are written in her countenance. Yet whatever he finds in her expression seems to give him the courage to go on. “So...you think you could be happy here?”

She laughs. “I don’t think I can be happy anywhere else.”

Scooting a little closer to him, Belle focuses on keeping his solid, steady gaze. She read a book once about a man who owned a lighthouse. He gave up his life on the sea, because no matter how far away he traveled, the lighthouse always called him home. At the time, Belle had not understood how someone could give up the thing they love most for something so contrary to themselves. But now...oh, now she understands, staring into his eyes, as vibrant and vast as the sea, yet as steady as a lighthouse. His eyes call her home even now. 

“I know that we hardly know each other. And I’m just a farm girl--”

“Belle--”

“Please. Let me finish.” She licks her lips, feeling her heart soar as she finally tells him what she should have said the moment she found him on that ledge. “You’re my only real friend in the world, and I want to stay because...because I love you.”


End file.
